Previously
Resurreccion blocks Marquis Rochester from forcing Dolores back home, asserting his rights as her husband and escorting her away to the Lancaster estate. There, Edwin Shelley greets Dolores with overt adoration while butler Bertrand leads her to a lavish chamber filled with fresh Brillant Roses.
Just as the butler had predicted, she was only able to meet Resurreccion once midday arrived.
True to his nature as a beast sprawling in his own territory, Resurreccion sat with the top of his shirt loosely undone.
Under normal circumstances, Dolores would have chided him, saying it breached proper etiquette.
‘Still, I should let it go just this once.’
He had likely been conferring with his aides until dawn; faint shadows darkened the hollows beneath his eyes.
Though the trace of exhaustion only made him look like an indolent black predator.
“Grand Duke.”
Dolores broke the silence, her voice catching slightly in her throat.
The sheer abundance of roses in her bedchamber lingered in her mind, unwittingly tugging at her heartstrings.
“Thank you so much for preparing all of—.”
“Let’s start with Lindinis.”
“…”
“I imagine you’d like to rest, but time is pressing on my end.”
“…Yes, of course.”
Dolores promptly smoothed her expression into an elegant smile.
Whatever possessed her to show kindness to a man who reduced sentiment to scraps of rags?
‘The Grand Duke and I are in a business arrangement—a trade of mutual benefit.’
He had rescued her, and now it was Dolores’s turn to fulfill her end of the bargain.
‘To let myself grow sentimental… I still have a long way to go.’
“The territories I suggested were Bedford, Islington, and Lindinis.”
“Right. And we need to bring Lindinis into the fold first.”
Dolores nodded at his choice.
‘Planting influence in the buffer zone between Islington and Bedford will make things much easier later on.’
However, a legal complication stood in their way.
Lindinis was a land absorbed into the empire whose former lord administered it under the title of Margrave.
Consequently, Resurreccion had no legal basis whatsoever to stake a direct claim.
‘Besides, territorial warfare between imperial subjects was outlawed long ago.’
Even without holding legal title to the land, however, there were countless ways to reign as its true power.
“Lady Dolly. You’re aware of the succession uproar in Lindinis, aren’t you?”
“Naturally. All eyes are on whom Elizabeth, the Dowager Margravine of Lindinis, will name.”
Every male heir of the direct line in the Margraviate of Lindinis was now dead.
As an ‘outsider’ to the bloodline, the Dowager Margravine, matriarch though she was, held no right to inherit the estate herself.
Her late husband, however, had granted her the sole authority to designate the successor before his death.
“I hear the collateral branches are all clamoring and lobbying to win the Dowager Margravine’s favor.”
“There’s one among them I intend to back.”
“One of your aides is kin to the Dowager Margravine, then?”
Resurreccion nodded.
“Viscount Oswald Lindinis. I need to plant that bastard into the Margrave’s seat.”
“Hmm, I see… Viscount Oswald.”
Dolores silently combed through the memories of her first life.
‘In truth, the Dowager Margravine will succumb to old age not long from now. That’s why this succession squabble eventually devolved into a muddy brawl.’
In the end, Resurreccion had only managed to secure Lindinis after years of bloody pacification campaigns.
‘Yet if we can secure this territory through high-society politics…!’
Years would be reduced to mere months.
And this was precisely the first proving ground for Dolores to demonstrate her worth to him.
“By the way, is there a particular reason you’re backing him?”
“Of course there is.”
Resurreccion replied, chewing his beef.
“He has no backbone.”
“Grand Duke…”
“What? In our current situation, that’s a tremendous virtue.”
“…”
“I’ve conditioned him so thoroughly that he can’t even twitch without my order.”
Dolores considered pointing out his cynical phrasing, then let it drop.
She could already picture the endless headaches if she took issue with every single remark throughout the contract.
“…Very well. Then all we must do is steer the Dowager Margravine into choosing him, correct?”
“I like that you catch on fast. Do you have an in with her?”
“Not yet. But I know what kind of woman she is.”
True to a noblewoman of an older era, the Dowager Margravine was deeply particular about etiquette and longed for the past.
Dolores let the corners of her lips curl upward.
As fortune would have it, the perfect opportunity to win the matriarch’s favor was fast approaching.
“I will host our first salon after the wedding and invite her. The Dowager Margravine will surely visit the capital.”
“…Ah. The wedding.”
“Surely… you haven’t forgotten?”
“My mind seems to have discarded it of its own accord out of sheer reluctance.”
When Resurreccion buried his face in his hands and groaned, Dolores’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits.
Honestly, what was wrong with this man?
“We may be legally wed, but we must take our vows properly before society. The invitations have already been sent.”
“We’re already husband and wife. Must I really dress up like a clown?”
“It is tradition, Grand Duke. And it’s ceremonial attire, not a clown suit.”
Though she tried to maintain her poised smile, Dolores’s tone turned increasingly sharp.
Since the subject of the wedding had arisen, she thought it wise to settle another matter while she was at it.
“As for our sleeping arrangements, separate chambers should suffice as we have them now, yes? Plenty of married couples do so.”
“Fine by me. Unless, of course, the lady wishes to ravish me.”
“Heh. I am well aware Your Highness possesses striking looks, but there is no need to be so conceited.”
‘Not when you’re impotent anyway,’ Dolores swallowed the scoff inwardly.
Resurreccion gave an infuriatingly slick, roguish smirk.
“Why? Didn’t you marry me because my looks suited your tastes?”
“How do you expect to achieve great ambitions if you take every piece of honeyed praise to heart?”
“Even so, you’d best keep the flattery coming, Lady Dolly.”
Resurreccion scoffed as he rose from his seat first.
“We need to look affectionate for the remainder of our time, don’t we? Even before the servants of this estate.”
Having already finished her meal lest her nausea act up, Dolores stood and slipped her arm through his.
Watching him scowl, Dolores drove the point home.
“Your Highness must play your part as well. It will hardly do if I look like the only one clinging to you.”
“Haa… I’ll play the dutiful husband to perfection, so don’t you worry.”
The moment the dining room doors swung open, the servants hurried to bow their heads.
Dolores prayed fervently that they appeared every bit the harmonious newlyweds in the servants’ eyes.
Every so often, a treacherous rat would sell their master’s secrets to outsiders.
“If you need anything for the salon, just name it. Don’t mind the budget.”
“Very well. I shall speak with Sir Shelley when the time comes… Ah.”
“Hm? What is it?”
Dolores smiled, a brilliant gleam lighting her eyes.
“Could I perhaps ask Sub Rosa for a favor before the wedding?”
Madame Rouare would undoubtedly try to stir up trouble at the upcoming ceremony.
And this time, Dolores had not the slightest intention of dropping to her knees and pleading.
‘No, that’s not enough. Merely refusing to kneel won’t suffice.’
The woman had dragged Dolores toward that sham altar with a smile; she had some nerve.
‘I’ll make that woman drop to her knees instead.’
Bertrand, the head butler of the Lancaster estate, was thoroughly pleased by Dolores’s arrival.
Small wonder, given how long he had fretted that his headstrong master might grow old and die alone.
The wedding had been handled with rather… no, extraordinary haste, but what did that matter?
With that thought in mind, Bertrand carried tea to the study in person.
Resurreccion was reviewing documents, wearing a pair of rimless spectacles.
“Your Highness. Starting tomorrow, I shall gradually give Her Highness the Consort a tour of the estate.”
“Very well. Did she complain about her chambers?”
“She was exceptionally pleased, and voiced no discomfort whatsoever.”
“Good, then. Anything else?”
“She appeared particularly fond of the Brillant Roses.”
Recalling what he had witnessed while attending to her that morning, Bertrand smiled with satisfaction.
Dolores had stood there smiling, gently brushing her fingertips against the petals endlessly.
The maidservants had even stopped mid-stride, stealing glimpses of her figure as though gazing upon a masterwork.
“Thanks to Your Highness ordering the saplings prepared in advance, we were able to arrange the freshest blooms immediately.”
“…”
“You have exquisite taste, Your Highness.”
“Ha. Exquisite taste, my foot.”
Resurreccion retorted crossly.
“Anyone would remember when someone chirps in their ear day and night about how wonderful that bundle of weeds is.”
“…”
Bertrand met his gruff reply with an unyielding, serene smile.
Bertrand had served the Grand Duke since childhood.
And regrettably, his master had learned far too early to shield himself with sarcasm rather than candor.
At times, such phrasing passed as nothing more than dry wit.
Even so, Bertrand could not help feeling a prickle of unease.
‘I only hope he does not direct too much of that biting sarcasm toward the Grand Duchess.’
Between husband and wife, a sharp tongue all too often sowed deep discord.
At any rate, the Lancaster estate was embracing this newfound change smoothly.
…Meanwhile, an uproar was brewing within the Rochester marquisate.